


There is no evil angel but love

by elf_on_the_shelf



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is being a bastard, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Falling In Love, History Bits, M/M, Mentions of Rome and Other Stuff, Or Is It?, Renaissance Era Florence, The Arrangement, Unrequited Love, What else is new?, but hey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:34:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25434724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elf_on_the_shelf/pseuds/elf_on_the_shelf
Summary: This fic was written for the prompt "the moment Crowley realises he's fallen in love with Aziraphale" on the DIWS MiniBang server.The two of them have a lovely evening in Florence and some very life-altering thoughts are being thought by a certain demon as he reminisces about several of their previous encounters thus far.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46
Collections: GO-DIWS Prompt Sprints





	There is no evil angel but love

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, HolRose so so much for betaing this. 
> 
> I would have been completely lost without Bucky's title :D

Crowley was wandering on the streets of Florence and enjoying every minute of it, if he would have tried being honest with himself only for a little bit.

The fact that so many religious paintings and pieces of art in general were either paid for with blood money, commissioned by corrupt people of the clergy or created by more than lewd artists warmed his cold demonic heart.

_This was the way it was supposed to go, wasn’t it?_

Find anything that had even the tiniest relation to Heaven and thwart the living daylight out of it.

Hell had been particularly proud of him influencing all of those painters to go full on Greek mythology instead of back to their beloved Christian values. Especially when nudity was involved. He took a special kind of pleasure in that, imagining the looks on all of those “holier than thou” knobs Upstairs. _Heh._

He had just finished drinking far too many carafes of wine with Botticelli and had whispered in his ear quite a lot of things about the purity and exquisiteness of ancient artwork. He thought the birth of Venus was involved at some point but, the way he remembered it, the painter was the one who actually brought that up while all he did was nod his head and intone some half-thought-of strings of consonants. He still felt like he was doing Satan's work regardless of that, so he was now dragging his feet more than actually properly walking down one of the cobbled streets in the centre of the city, looking around at all the palaces and smiling to himself.

He had done a number on them gullible humans with that as well, hadn’t he?

_Oh, no need to worry about the poor people rebelling in the street. Just build your main thing higher up. Have small windows with bars on them at ground level, that should teach them plebs, hah!_

He supported the masses, obviously, and that was why he whispered the weirdest things in the merchants’ and noblemen’s ears. They truly deserved where they were going and Crowley wanted to make sure they arrived at their intended destination without getting lost along the way by say, being nice to the poor or some other nonsense like that.

He was taking a swig out of the wine jug he had stolen from the tavern and chuckling to himself as he bumped into something. Or rather, someone.

‘I am terribly sorry, my dear, I wasn’t watching where I...is that _you_ , Crowley?’

‘Oh, hey there, Aziraphale’ he intoned loudly enough to manage getting someone to open their window shutters and yell at the two of them to keep it down.

‘Aziraphale! Long time, no see,’ he tried to fake whisper after yelling out some poor excuse of an apology that got four more shutters to open and a lot more people to angrily yell at him.

‘I think it’s time we got you away from here, dear boy. That is, if we want to escape these people following you around with pitchforks and the like.’

It was obvious that Aziraphale could barely contain a chuckle and Crowley wanted to laugh out loud at that.

_The angel was such a bastard._

‘Where do you think we should go then?’

‘We?’

‘Yeah, well, haven’t seen you in a while. Thought you might use some wine.’

‘Well, I think we can go to an empty piazza. Judging by how loud you’re being, I think it’s probably for the best.’

‘Oh! I have just the thing!’ Crowley loudly exclaimed and got a couple more people open their shutters and shout at him. This didn’t deter him as he took off on unsteady but very determined feet and motioned for Aziraphale to follow him, turning around to make sure that he was still there every couple of feet or so.

He had no idea exactly why but he wanted to spend the rest of the evening in Aziraphale’s company. _That was odd._ Well, it wasn’t _that_ odd. Whenever he met up with the angel, he had the same strange feeling somewhere in his chest. A feeling that he couldn’t name or put a finger on.

He continued walking towards the place he had in mind with a wide smile on his face remembering all of the other evenings they had spent together so far.

_Of course there had been that night in Rome forever ago. Aziraphale with his perfect toga. A little wings brooch too, the flash bastard. And those warm smiles and candid glints in his eye each time he tasted those slimy watery abominations. Crowley had nearly choked on the first and only one that he had only tried out because Aziraphale was pouting at him. He got a chuckle out of that even then and it had been absolutely perfect. He had never heard anything so beautiful in his four millennia of roaming about. It had a crystalline quality to it and Crowley thought he wanted to hear that sound forever._

_Never before had he seen the angel act so at ease, so free of worry and so content. He wanted him to be like that forever._

_That was the first time he had experienced the weird thing his stomach was doing but he had blamed it on the abomination he had just had the displeasure to eat._

_He tried to drown the thing in as much wine as demonically possible even if the wine back then wasn’t that good either._

_The thing that the feeling seemed to grow over the course of the evening the more and more they drank leaning back on the klinai and getting the occasional pat on the shoulder from a now rosy cheeked and openly laughing angel didn’t register as a problem at the time._

He led the way, Aziraphale still trailing after him and trying his best not to admonish him for his demonic behaviour as more and more windows were opened and people screamed at him. Which only prompted other windows to the opened in turn and even more screaming to ensue.

Crowley grabbed the angel’s arm and darted into a dim lit alley placing a finger over his own lips and trying his hardest not to burst out laughing.

Aziraphale wasn’t faring much better but, on the other hand, he still tried to look as put off as possible and failing to do so in the most delightful way. It was probably because he wasn’t nearly as inebriated as Crowley was at this particular moment so the demon tried to remedy that.

So he passed the wine jug and for a millisecond their fingers brushed.

Crowley felt whatever it was that was making his heart act all funny kick in again just as he realised how close they were to each other in the cramped alley, mere inches apart, and Aziraphale’s mesmerising scent hit him full on.

He smelled like clear blue skies and crisp mornings and starlight and happiness. And he knew those were not proper scents, not for humans, at least, but he brushed all the things happening on the Earthly plane aside and tried ignoring the faint traces of old parchment and honeysuckle and focus on whatever Aziraphale’s presence did to his demonic senses at the moment.

The angel rolled his eyes with the most “I am so done with your nonsense” expression Crowley had ever seen. It didn’t help his cause however that one of the corners of his lips curled upwards ever so slightly before he took a swig out of the wine jug.

Crowley closed his eyes and inhaled.

_It was like that time in Lyon when they were camping in the servants’ quarters and arguing over food. Well, arguing over what letters got placed in that specific food._

_They had been at it for ages and everyone was frankly getting a bit tired of the whole charade._

_The cardinals were getting tired. Hell, the whole of Christendom was getting tired. But, most importantly, Crowley was getting tired._

_Acting as a glorified page boy for those stuck-up hypocritical sons of bitches had been such fun at the beginning, messing with all of their heads and their abilities to decide whoever should they cast their vote for next. It had been even funnier when Aziraphale had come along, fully intending to thwart his wiles at each and every turn. He had even made a game out of the whole thing. But that had been months ago and, frankly, people treated servants horridly. What was up with that?_

_So when Aziraphale came offering a truce he took it instantly. Well, not instantly instantly, he had to pretend to think very hard about it in order to sell the whole bit to the angel but he was mighty pleased with himself that he managed to resist yelling at him “oh please, Satan below, anything you want, just do anything but let me get out of this mess” for as long as he did. Which was two whole days._

_Aziraphale’s plan of making the cardinals choose the oldest and most frail looking candidate out of the lot of them was frankly brilliant and full of mischief and Crowley loved it._

_It solved both of their problems. Aziraphale could go back to head office and report his success in getting them to finally chose a Pope. Crowley could go back to his lot and state what a great idea it was that they convinced everyone to do this since they’d be at it again in the fall since that old relic would be long dead by then. So, of course he went along with the plan immediately._

_It was only after the gates were finally opened and everyone fled what had been their place of entrapment for the last two years or so that he felt it._

_He was sitting across from Aziraphale in one of the wine cellars with the door miracled shut and toasting on ale. Crowley always busied himself with stuffing the delicious meals with missives and Aziraphale was in charge of actually delivering them inside the church since they had both agreed that it was for the better not to have a demon hop around while serving food to the most important people in Christendom._

_None of them messed with either the letters or the deliveries. They had shaken hands on the Arrangement only 300 years old prior so it was still a relatively new thing but this was more of a gentleman’s agreement._

_So when he closed his eyes, sated on the half barrel of ale he had drunk so far and he sensed a change in the scent around him he was confused at first. They had said that they weren’t going to thwart whatever the other one had planned. The letters would stay the same and they would always be delivered and they would let the humans decide which was the best course of action._

_Crowley tasted the air some more and could not believe it. He knew exactly what that scent was and it smelled like mischief._

_‘Aziraphale.’_

_‘Yes?’_

_‘What did you do?’_

_‘Whatever could you possibly mean?’_

_Crowley tried his best to understand what was happening and racked his brains about the whole thing before remembering a hazy evening a while back. There had been a bet. He nearly growled._

_‘You cheated,’ he stated instead of asking as he felt the sublime scent of sunlight and bright skies being tainted just a bit by a temptation that not only was put out there into the world but achieved its purpose completely._

_‘I did no such thing.’_

_‘Aziraphale.’_

_‘I asked you if you wanted to shake on it and you said yes. I never meddled with the letters. I never whispered anything into any of their ears. Minus the one, of course. You know how I want to always let the people do the actual thwarting.’_

_Crowley would have stayed in the wine cellar and inhaled the intoxicating scent of the angel for all of eternity even before it became heady with the added tang of a well executed temptation._

_‘I shook on it.’_

_‘You know how I proposed we get out of this predicament by convincing the lot of them to vote for Dueze since he is very old and will probably be dead by the end of the year?’_

_‘Rings a bell.’_

_‘Turns out he is doing far better than any of us would have ever suspected. All of those ailments that had troubled him for the last months? Gone. Miraculous, one might say.’_

_‘Miraculous.’_

_‘I mean, no miracles were involved, obviously. We did have a deal.’_

_‘So. What you’re telling me is that you managed to convince one of them to lie and deceive the others for months on end so that you might win the bet?’_

_‘I admit to no such thing. That is a very slanderous thing to say, I’ll have you know,’ Aziraphale pretended to be offended by the remark but threw him a knowing look and even managed a little wiggle._

Complete bastard that he was.

_‘Not to mention that it was entirely their decision without any angelic influence whatsoever.’_

_Crowley threw him another long look before he threw his head back and started laughing._

_‘With that level of well executed temptations, Aziraphale, no wonder I got commendations for all of the ones you performed for me.’_

_‘Oh, shush. I never performed a temptation in my life,’ Aziraphale wiggled again and his eyes twinkled in the dim candlelight._

_Crowley was looking at him now. Truly. Properly._ Never performed a temptation indeed.

_Wee bastard angel. With his impeccable embroidered tunic and those tights that should have, honest to Satan, been banned, if they were being honest here. What a time to be alive._

_So he closed his eyes again and inhaled some more._

He had no idea what this was but it certainly wasn’t anything good. _Anything bad?_

‘You said you knew just the place?’ Aziraphale asked as he returned the wine jug by prodding Crowley’s fingers with it.

‘Oh, yeah! Come on,’ he snorted, grabbed the jug and took off at a brisk pace. ‘Piazza della Signoria, here we come.’

‘You cannot be serious, Crowley!’

‘Why not? Big place. Has a fountain in the middle. Perfect for late night drinking. Not to mention that it’s just around the corner. Ah. There it is!’

Aziraphale was still staying in the mouth of the alley as Crowley nearly ran into the square proper and twirled for a little bit shouting on top of his lungs about how this was the best place to be at the moment.

And maybe Aziraphale had taken the right decision, Crowley mused later on seeing as, the next thing he knew he was being doused with a bucket of ice-cold water from one of the windows of a second storey building.

And then berated for what seemed like eternity by some very lovely and kind looking old lady. _Well. Looks could be deceiving, apparently._

Aziraphale watched him from the mouth of the alley and even had the good grace of not laughing out loud although it was obvious that it was the only thing he wanted to do at the moment.

‘Come on then. Let’s find someplace more in tune with your mood for the evening.’

‘And I suppose you have just the place?’

‘As a matter of fact, I do. I thought you had more sense in you than going for the most well-known piazza in the city, but I guess I should have known better. Come on, my dear. I know the perfect spot.’

Aziraphale stepped out from the shadows and tried formulating a hasty apology in something that might have resembled Italian if you had never heard it before in your life. He got a “harrumph” as a response but there were no more buckets thrown at them.

'Could have been worse, I suppose,' the angel stated, matter-of-factly.

'How exactly could it have been worse?' Crowley cried out as he inspected the state of his once pristine velvet tunic. 

'They could have decided to throw a bucket of, let's just call it not water at you.'

And with that Aziraphale turned on his heels and was off.

Crowley smiled stupidly into the darkness, thanking his lucky stars that the angel couldn’t see the expression on his face and not being exactly sure why that was.

He would follow Aziraphale everywhere.

 _Wait_. That wasn’t a very demonic thought. _He shouldn’t be thinking that, should he?_

The doubts were instantly erased from his mind as he felt a warm arm snake around his own, guiding him towards the presumably good spot for midnight drinking. He hadn't even noticed the angel turning back and approaching him. He was probably taking to long to catch up, all caught up in his thoughts.

And through this all, Aziraphale kept talking like nothing was the matter. Like his warm hand was not residing on Crowley’s forearm. Like his silvery curls weren’t the stuff that should inspire a thousand paintings. Like that smile was some random, everyday occurrence that all of those humans should actually see and admire instead of it being reserved for him and him alone.

Crowley lowered his hand that was not holding the wine jug at the moment and interlaced his fingers with those of the angel, giving them a squeeze and then holding on to them for dear life and never wanting to let them go.

This was certainly not good but he still had no idea why that was. _Or bad?_ He still wasn’t very clear about the whole thing. He just knew that it felt _right._

It was just that the angel was absolutely the best thing to have happened to him in his very long life. That whatever he wanted to talk about was instantly interesting. That their hands touching alone was the height of the last century for him. That he would do absolutely anything to make sure that Aziraphale kept that angelic smile on his face.

_Oh. Right._

Aziraphale continued to smile warmly at him and squeezed his hand back and Crowley was weak in the knees apparently for some reason.

They wandered on many a street and, judging by Crowley’s limited knowledge of the city since he was drunk most of the times when he went on a stroll, they were making their way towards the river.

The great Arno – a subject to many a poem even if - for the life of him - he didn’t understand why. It was just a muddy pond that needed a serious push to even flow downhill.

He thought back to that time they met in Moesia and spent the day inspecting a bridge. Fitting, really, since they were about to cross one at the very moment. Except that bridge was a testament to man’s intellect and aptitudes and this one just traversed a lazy excuse for a river.

Aziraphale took the wine away from his hand and he didn’t even look like he felt sorry about it as he almost drained the thing.

It was just as well that they could refill wine jugs with a snap of their fingers. Which Crowley did immediately. He really needed to be drunk for this, the way everything was going.

_They had met on one side of the Danube and they had acted like they never knew each other to begin with. It was just what they did._

_‘Hello, Aziraphale. What brings you into this neck of the woods?’_

_‘I heard about the amazing bridge that is being built. Making the Roman Empire even bigger. Peace will linger on in some other territories where it didn’t before.’_

_‘Do you even know what you’re talking about? The only people springing war about were the damn Romans.’_

_‘Well, I thought you liked them…’_

_‘Of course I do. Because they bring about all of those damn wars.’_

_‘So why are you here then? If this doesn’t sit right with you?’_

_‘Oh, it sits very right. They are stealing all of the gold here. Not to mention the nice bridge being built. Well done you!’ Crowley yelled at the architect who took a minuscule bow but then maintained a smile on his face for the next three days._

_‘Why are you here?’_

_‘This makes the Roman Empire a wholesome and very well organised entity.’_

_‘Oh, you mean like Heaven?’_

_‘I didn’t say any such thing.’_

_‘You most certainly didn’t. But shouldn’t you?’_

_Aziraphale looked at him with a forlorn expression on his face, shook his head for a bit and was off without ever looking back._

_Crowley didn’t get why he felt a pit in his stomach but he knew that he was right about where the angel’s loyalties lay._

They were on the middle on the Ponte Carraia now and far enough from all of the houses to bother anyone so he downed the jug, yelled some incomprehensible nonsense at the people who were presumably the cause of their self-inflicted exile on the middle of the bridge and then smashed the jug. Although that last bit was because it slipped from his fingers. Not that he would admit it anytime soon.

‘Wahoo!’ he intoned merrily but his face immediately changed from a wicked grin to a furrowed brow.

He tried to keep his balance but he was far too sloshed for that so he sat down square in the middle of the pavement looking at the exquisite brickwork on the bell tower of the church on the other bank of the Arno and miracled another wine jug into existence.

Aziraphale looked at him with his usual kind eyes and Crowley felt like he could nearly melt on the spot.

He tried passing the jug and that had the angel sit down as well, back leaning on the other side of the bridge’s parapet, bearing the softest expression that Crowley had ever seen in his very long life on his face.

Crowley thought that passing the jug back and forth in silence was alright enough. So he did that.

Whenever he brushed the angel’s fingers with his own, Crowley felt his heart nearly explode in his chest but he had no idea why. _There had to be a reason, there simply had to._

Aziraphale was chattering away about Heavenly inspired works of art and what he had busied himself with in the past couple of decades in which they hadn’t seen each other and Crowley told himself that he could listen to the angel forever and ever. He could do only this and he would be content.

There had been many occasions in which he had experienced the same need to be close to the angel and bask in his light throughout history. Many times he had wondered what he would be allowed to do to the best being that graced the Earth with his presence.

_Maybe bury his hand in those soft looking curls. Maybe caress his cheek lightly. Maybe even…_

‘Alright, angel, no need to get so vexed about the whole Dante thing.’

Aziraphale lifted his eyes from the cobblestones and inspected Crowley’s face for a good, long minute.

The fact that his cheeks were now red didn’t state anything about him. The fact that Crowley wanted to turn into a serpent for the next thousand years didn’t say anything about him either.

_Oh._

_Oh fuck._

He had called him angel. _I mean, sure, he was one_. But Crowley’s tone of voice didn’t fool anyone.

‘You just called me…’

‘Never worry your pretty head, angel,’ Crowley smiled widely at him.

_What was the matter with him? What was the point of all this? What did he even hope to achieve with all of this random name-calling?_

Maybe he just wanted to lean in and kiss him like there was no tomorrow.

He shook his head as he placed the wine jug on the paving in the middle of the bridge again.

_Oh fuck._

Maybe just point a huge middle finger at all of Hell and be done with it. They were a good team together. They managed to do so much when they weren’t cancelling each other out.

Maybe just give it all up, take the angel’s hand and run away somewhere, all on their own. Neither Heaven or Hell deserved them. Or at least not the angel. He was far too precious to be doing whatever those feathery shits wanted him to do.

‘I’m sorry, angel, I didn’t mean it, I….’

_Oh FUCK!_

Aziraphale was looking at him like he had hung the stars and the moon and he was only partly responsible for that.

_He had no way of getting out of this, now did he?_

Aziraphale kept staring at him with those enormous baby blue eyes and that honest smile and Crowley realised what that feeling that he kept avoiding or misnaming was just a little bit too late.

‘What is it, my dear?’ Aziraphale asked with a slight frown that made Crowley’s heart nearly draw to a halt. _Or was it the “my dear” that did it?_ Anyway, he was a liability to the both of them at the moment.

‘Is something the matter? You seem distressed.’

 _Distressed?_ He wanted to burst out laughing. Yelling was also a valid option but the angel didn’t deserve that.

He was utterly and completely in love with an angel and there was no going back. Both Heaven and Hell would serve their heads on a platter. Probably Hell would even actually eat what was on that platter.

_Why was he like this? Why was he doing this to the angel?_

No. He needed to go somewhere else as soon as possible.

_So. He loved the angel._

That was forbidden.

_He would do anything but hurt him._

He looked at Aziraphale, shook his head and got up as soon as possible. He really needed to get away.

He would dream about their evening on that bridge forever and frankly he needed to hold on to the image. So he looked at the angel one more time.

_Why was he even doing?_

He gave him a curt nod, sobered up instantly and sauntered off at a brisk pace before Aziraphale had a chance to call after him.

Unfortunately for Crowley, not before the first light of day was reflected in Aziraphale's kind eyes that he could watch for the rest of eternity and be content.

He really needed to spend the next hundred years or so figuring this out. Or maybe just sleeping for a bit instead.

He was in love with an angel.

_OH, FUCK!_

**Author's Note:**

> The historical bits I referenced are as follows:
> 
> Florence in 1480. Renaissance at its peak in art and architecture alike and a fabulous period to live in if you were a wealthy merchant. Otherwise, not so much.
> 
> Rome in 41. Y'all know this one :D
> 
> Lyon in 1316. The longest papal conclave to have taken place, lasting nearly 2 years because of the divided factions inside dear old Mother Church. It didn't help that the Papacy resided in Avignon instead of Rome at the time.
> 
> Moesia in 104. During the construction of Apollodorus's bridge over the Danube. That bridge was a work of genius and incredible engineering for the time and it helped the Roman Empire be easily connected to their newest "acquired" province, Dacia.


End file.
